


Heart of the Library

by katajainen



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Durincest, Erebor under siege, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, I've been told there is fluff, Libraries, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Smut, Three young idiots in love, Threesome, Unresolved Sexual Tension, negotiating a polyamorous relationship, so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor is under siege. While the future is uncertain and the outcome of the coming battle anyone's guess, what Ori thought was only a bit of fun shared on the road takes a turn towards something completely different. Of course, nothing is ever simple when the young heirs of Durin are involved.</p><p>And then there's the library of a lost kingdom, which becomes a place of discovery and refuge in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If I were to call this self-indulgent OT3 fluff, I'd be lying. It came out completely different than I thought it would, so I don't even know what to call it anymore.
> 
> Written for the Hobbit Big Bang 2016.
> 
> As always, humongous, glorious and completely disproportionate thanks to [saraste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste) for putting up with my whining and griping which was something no beta or sister should have to tolerate. You're a treasure of all treasures!
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
>  Please read the tags. The Durincest one is there for a reason.
> 
> As regards to book vs. movie canon, I'm cherry-picking here.  
> I'm following the book canon for the events of Laketown and the timeline of the siege of Erebor (and, by extension, the events of Mirkwood, pretty much), simply because it serves the interests and purposes of this particular story.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the book canon: take Tauriel out of the picture, assume that Kíli never got wounded during the escape from Thranduil's dungeons, and that the Company stayed in Laketown for weeks, not days, and left for the mountain together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the pieces are set.

The stone doors were nearly twice Ori’s height, and nearly as wide. They were framed with deep interlacing gouges and scrapes and defaced with old scorch-marks. They were also definitely and firmly stuck. Fíli gave them a final half-hearted nudge.

‘Rusted shut,’ he concluded, turning to his brother, ‘or else barred from the inside.’

The three of them stood in a dusty corridor, dark save for their lamps. Thus far, the day’s exploring had yielded little. Everything of value had already been in the hoard, and the rest... everything perishable was long gone, and what else was salvageable, not much was of immediate use.

‘Nothing in there to interest the old wyrm, since it didn’t bother forcing it.’ Kíli lifted the lamp he was carrying. ‘Look at those cracks! How hot do you think a fire needs to be to crack stone like that?’

‘Hot enough. But if Smaug didn’t get in this way, neither are we. And we probably have even less idea of what’s inside.’

‘Speak for yourself – Ori seems to be on the know. Aren’t you?’

Ori was tracing his fingers along the door-jamb where everything precious had been forcibly pried off the stonework, eyes closed to better feel the shape of the original decorations with his fingertips. ‘This is the third level, right?’ he asked in return. ‘Four halls west off the main stairs?’

‘Yes, I think so. So you have an idea what this is? Looks like something grand enough.’

Ori turned slowly back to the princes, feeling a wide grin unbidden on his face. ‘I think this is the Great Library.’ he breathed. ‘And the door is intact.’

‘How can you tell? It’s not like we have a map or–’ Kíli stopped, comprehension dawning. ‘It was Balin, wasn’t it? Set you looking for it on the quiet, didn’t he?’

Ori shrugged. ‘Not in so many words. But he did mention the location.’ He couldn’t seem to stop grinning. ‘Not to mention that everything legible here is about warding against fire and damp and thieves. I’d bet my best quill back at Ered Luin that it reads “Grand Library” over the door.’

Kíli lifted his lamp as high as he could and peered up where the arch disappeared into the gloom. ‘Would need a ladder.’ His face brightened. ‘Or a nice strong elder brother. Fee! Give me a leg up, will you?’

Fíli stole a glance at Ori, then at his brother, and shrugged. ‘Fine. But put that lamp away first. You’ll need both hands.’

‘Fusspot.’

‘Just because I don’t fancy getting burning oil all over myself when you keel over.’

Ori waited, holding two lamps, and watched as Fíli squatted facing the door and Kíli grasped his offered hands. They must have done this before, Ori mused, as Kíli swiftly clambered up on Fíli’s shoulders and steadied himself on his brother’s outstretched arms as Fíli slowly stood up.

‘You good?’

‘Better if you stop wobbling down there.’

‘Oh, just shut up. Ori, the lamp, if you please.’

Ori handed the light to Fíli, who passed it over to his brother. Kíli straightened slowly, one hand gliding over the stone for support, other lifting the lamp.

‘You better not let go now, or I _will_ keel over.’ Ori heard him mutter as Fíli shifted his grip a bit higher around his brother's ankles.

The lamplight made a shivering golden circle on the arch of the doorway, illuminating the tall _angerthas_ carved deep and wide into the stone. The runes had originally been inlaid with gold or silver, if the claw-marks criss-crossing the stone were any indication. Ori craned his neck and squinted. ‘It says “Royal” something... can you move the light a bit?’

‘Left or right?’

‘Sorry – right. Thanks. Oh.’ For a moment Ori thought he forgot to breathe. ‘The Royal Library of Erebor.’ he breathed out, tamping down the urge to jump up and down and laugh aloud. He wasn’t _that_ young any more.

There was a distinct ‘Yes!’ from Kíli. ‘What’s the rest? It’s a bit large to read this close.’

Ori stepped closer to make out the smaller inscription below. ‘Founded... founded on the twenty-seventh year of Thráin son of Náin, King Under the Mountain. That’s... that’s some nine hundred years back.’ He ignored the crick in his neck as he peered up again. ‘The rest, the smaller type – something about refurbishments, or restorations – the bit with all the soot – Kíli, can you make it out? You have the better light.’

‘You only had to ask!’ Shadows danced in the hallway as Kíli’s lamp swung on its chain. ‘Restorations,’ he called back, ‘accomplished on the third year of Thrór son of Dáin.’ He turned to flash a grin at Ori. ‘That’s what you were looking for, isn’t it?’ Then, jerking his right foot on his brother’s shoulder, ‘Oi, Fee, let me down; I’m going to show Ori the family library!’

‘Watch it! You’ll get us both–’ for a moment, they both teetered perilously, the lamp swung on its chain and clanked against the lintel, raining droplets of burning oil. ‘The light first,’ Fíli grunted as he found his balance again. ‘Then get.’

Kíli leapt to the floor with his usual lack of concern for safety of life and limb. Disregarding the lamps the scribe was holding, he grabbed Ori’s shoulders, beaming. ‘We’ll find a way in, you'll see.’ He dipped his head down to touch his forehead to Ori’s. ‘I want to show you _everything_.’

Ori couldn’t help smiling back at him, not with the excitement suddenly curling warm and tingly inside him. ‘But–’ he started, ‘we already tried, and the doors wouldn’t budge.’ If only Kíli would step back. Ori felt almost light-headed, breathing the same air.

Kíli shook his head, flashing a grin. ‘Already thought about that. About them being stuck, that is. You see–’ he let go of Ori’s shoulders, and Ori was _certain_ he was imagining the gentle brush of his thumbs as he did so – there was no way he could feel anything like that through all his layers, after all. Kíli went on. ‘We have all this oil,’ he swung one lamp on its chain, ‘that’s sure to be good for more than just light, don’t you think?’

‘Kíli.’ said Fíli using his trying-to-be-patient voice. ‘The doors have concealed hinges. You’d need to have them open to oil them in the first place.’

Ori could see Kíli sag, just a little bit, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to hug him. ‘It’s fine,’ he started, ‘you couldn’t have known.’

But Kíli held up a finger, springing back from defeat with preternatural speed. ‘True. But that’s where my backup plan comes in handy.’

‘Backup plan?’ Ori couldn’t really fault Fíli for sounding disbelieving.

‘Aye. This one I actually got from your brother.’ The younger prince nodded at Ori.

‘Nori?’ Ori couldn’t quite see either of his brothers sharing any kind of tips with the princes, but Nori was a slightly likelier bet, if only slightly.

‘Overheard, more like. But it’s really basic common sense, nothing like a trade secret or anything.’

‘Get to the point already. Either you have a plan to get us in or you don’t.’

‘Sheesh, Fee, keep your beard on, will you. I’m getting there. The point being, no one never, and I mean _never,_ builds anything public and important with just one entrance. So. There’s a back door.’

‘So that’s your grand plan? Find another door?’

‘No, you’re right,’ said Ori. And didn’t that just shut up the both of them beautifully. ‘There’s bound to be a staff entrance somewhere. They wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of opening these if the librarians or scribes needed something at odd hours – or worked odd hours. Believe me, that happens.’

It was always late at night or at the crack of dawn someone in charge needed just this record or that one, and more often than not, it was the apprentice who was sent to fetch it. The library back at Ered Luin was nothing this grand, but even it had had a fancier front entrance and a smaller unassuming door at the back for those who actually worked there. Or basically lived there, like Ori in the months before finishing his apprenticeship. He’d been younger than was common, then, and there had been talk, but hard work and little sleep was hardly magic. Not to mention that journeymen got paying jobs.

‘So? What are we waiting for, then? The door won’t come to us, will it?’ Without waiting for an answer, Kíli was off, his lamp trailing a cascade of shadows behind him as he turned a corner and vanished from sight.

‘Wait –’

‘Don’t bother.’

Ori sighed. ‘But there’s no need to rush.’

Fíli turned to march after his brother. ‘You won’t be getting that idea out of his head before he’s tried it. And besides–’ Ori was hurrying now to keep up with him– ‘you can’t fault him for being eager. Not when it’s for you.’

Ori was at loss for something to say. He hadn’t expected _that_ line of argument.

‘He _is_ terribly fond of you, Ori. And I can’t fault him for that either.’ Ori was walking in step with Fíli now, but what he could see of his face was unreadable.

‘Fíli, please...’ he reached out to grab the prince’s shoulder.

Fíli took a small sidestep, leaving Ori’s fingers to brush useless at the back of his armoured coat. ‘Come on, before he wanders off the Mountain.’

Ori settled walking some distance behind Fíli, their mutual silence stretching uneasy between them. The only sounds were the thud of their boots in the empty corridor, the occasional creak from Fíli’s leather and mail, the quiet click of his vambrace against a knife in his belt. No jingle of glittering beads against chains and rings and brooches. The prince now wore only the few beads he had worn since Ered Luin, no gems or fancy armour.

> _Fíli leaned against the newly-finished wall next to him, tinkling slightly. The setting sun glittered in the beads woven into his golden hair and beard, in the chains looped around his neck, in the rings on his fingers. Ori reached up to tuck one bejewelled braid behind his ear and smiled. ‘I bet they can hear you all the way down there, tinkling like a tinker’s cart that you do. You’re making a poor lookout of me.’_
> 
> _Fíli laughed. ‘Tinker’s cart? That’s new.’ He bent down to brush his lips against Ori’s. ‘You’re a terrible cruel thing, mocking me when I try to look my princely best for you.’_
> 
> ‘ _I think I liked you better when you weren’t shedding gold with every step.’_
> 
> ‘ _But I can’t help being a prince.’ said Fíli, straightening up, his face mock-serious. ‘Was one since I was born.’_
> 
> _Ori sighed. ‘I know. But you’re other things as well. You’re Fíli the musician, who can play a jig lively enough to raise the dead, and a lament sad enough to make a stone weep.’ His fingers trailed meandering, meaningless patterns on Fíli’s chest. ‘And you’re also Fíli the blacksmith’s apprentice, who doesn’t much care for the forge, but can still hammer out a great many useful things while he dreams of working with gold and silver.’ Ori hesitated, searching for lighter words, something that wouldn’t sound like he was declaring himself. ‘I would not see you forget that, even if you now are a prince with a proper mountain.’_
> 
> ‘ _And I bet you like the musician and the smith better than the prince,’ Fíli said softly. ‘But here, in this mountain, I must be the prince as well.’_
> 
> _Ori looked away, out over the plain stretching out from the mountain, into the horizon where the wind was chasing clouds across the blue. The besiegers had set up camp some distance away, but the voices carried, and the wind brought up the scent of smoke from cooking-fires. ‘You’re right,’ he said after a while. ‘But here in this mountain I’m still only a journeyman scribe.’ And there was only so much one could reach out for._
> 
> ‘ _No,’ Fíli said. ‘You’re never “only” anything.’ His fingers were carding through Ori’s hair now, fingertips brushing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. ‘You’re Ori who could be a weaver, too, if he wanted, and not many have two crafts. And you’re Ori who knows how to tie at least half a dozen different snares from a piece of string, how to chip a knife from a piece of flint and how to tell good silver from counterfeit – and probably a thousand other useful things I haven’t the faintest idea about. You’re Ori who won’t hesitate to tell me when I’m making a fool of myself– ’_
> 
> ‘ _Like right now.’ Ori interrupted. He didn’t care for the direction Fíli was going, not at all. ‘Enough already. You sound like you’re trying to sweet-talk me into something I’ll regret.’_
> 
> ‘ _Oh hush, let me say my piece.’ Fíli took Ori’s hand so he had to turn and face him. ‘Please.’_
> 
> ‘ _If you must.’_
> 
> ‘ _I must.’ Fíli looked him in the eye, steady and solemn. ‘Because I love the Ori who faced a dragon with me and would put my beads in his hair, if only he would have me.’_
> 
> _The beads shone silvery white on Fíli’s palm, the seven stars and crown picked up in minuscule blue gemstones. Ori opened his mouth, but no sound would come out. Please, he wanted to say, Fíli, please don’t do this. Please don’t do this to yourself. Please, because I don’t want to have to hurt you._
> 
> ‘ _I only found them yesterday, a stroke of blind luck really...’ Fíli trailed off into silence, as if nervous, now. ‘Ori? Please say something.’ Ori looked at him, then back at the beads and decided to try reason._
> 
> ‘ _Fíli... why now?’ he sighed. ‘Yes, we somehow, miraculously, survived the dragon, but the mountain is under siege, and I can’t see any way out that’s not a battle. This is hardly the time for you to put your beads in my hair – we could both be dead tomorrow, or the day after.’_
> 
> ‘ _But that’s what makes this the right time. Ori–’ Fíli took Ori’s hand between his own, closing his fingers around the beads. ‘Ever since that wyrm almost got us, I’ve only been thinking about how close I came to never getting the chance to ask you. And I want to do right by you, for your sake, and for my own, so that I can face my father without shame, if that’s my fate.’ There was hope written all over his face, such desperate hope that Ori couldn’t bear to look upon him._
> 
> ‘ _Fíli,’ he finally said, ‘what you’re proposing is the stuff of legends. Do you even know how many songs there are of promises exchanged on the eve of battle?’ Ori chuckled then, a weak mirthless sound. ‘But you would know, Fíli the musician would. But Fíli the prince should have enough sense to know why this is not the time.’ Ori stared down at their joined hands. ‘Since life is not a song. Not when I’m either scared out of my wits or can barely think straight for the gold. I don’t want to rush into anything like this. I wouldn’t do that to you.’_
> 
> _For the longest while, neither of them spoke. Fíli made no motion to let go of Ori’s hand. ‘I’ll ask you again,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll keep the beads and ask you again, until you accept. I’ll give you all the time you need.’_
> 
> _Ori smiled weakly at him, lifting his free hand to tug at Fíli’s moustache-braid. ‘You’ll make a fine king one day. You’re already as stubborn as your uncle.’_
> 
> ‘ _Persistent. I believe the word is persistent.’_
> 
> ‘ _Pig-headed.’_
> 
> ‘ _Ouch. You’re cruel enough to be married to me already.’_
> 
> _For all Fíli was trying to make light of it, his face betrayed him. ‘I’m sorry.’ Ori whispered, turning away to stare out over the wall, hiding the way he had to blink back tears._
> 
> ‘ _I think I should...’ Fíli eventually spoke up._
> 
> ‘ _Yes,’ Ori hurried to reply, much too eager. ‘I think it might be better, if...’_
> 
> _And so Fíli turned and went back into the mountain, with neither of them managing to finish what they had meant to say._
> 
> ‘ _Life is not a song.’ Those had been Ori’s words. But it had been a lie. This quest of Thorin’s was the stuff songs and tales were made of. The very songs and stories where you always knew the lovers were going to die once the promises were exchanged. So maybe, just maybe, Ori could cheat fate a little this way. But that was only one half of the reason. The other half was a tangle of dark hair, a fierce wild laughter and a bittersweet fluttering pain in Ori’s chest. He stared over the camp into the surrounding desolation, into the blazing fire of sunset. The wind was bitter cold and it would be dark soon._

 In the end, they found the door at the side of the library exactly opposite the main entrance, if Ori’s sense of direction held true. Kíli was practically jumping on the spot, demanding Ori to try it first – like all the others they’d come across. Like all the others that had opened into closets, onto service corridors, into a guard room, and on one memorable occasion, into a public latrine. Ori turned the handle, bracing himself for yet another disappointment. The narrow door swung inwards, the hinges groaning all their years of neglect.

Promisingly enough, the room beyond seemed to be an office, with desks ranged in orderly lines of three. It bore the clear signs of having been abandoned in a hurry: overturned chairs, dropped pens and inkwells, a litter of parchment scattered over the floor. A thick blanket of grey dust had settled over everything and rose up with the slightest disturbance.

Kíli flitted past him. Soon he declaimed having found a kitchen... of sorts. Ori peered in through the doorway. With the table and chairs and the minuscule stove, the space was obviously intended for refreshment. He stopped at the table, absent-mindedly righting an overturned mug whose contents had long since seeped and dried into the grain of the wood. Kíli was busy rifling through the cabinets, sending out clouds of dust in the process.

‘I doubt you’ll find anything edible after all this time.’ Ori remarked drily.

‘You never know where you find something interesting.’ Kíli replied, head deep in a cupboard. ‘Now why would they have a teapot – no, make that two. Seriously, two?’

‘Someone – or several someones – who used to work here obviously appreciated their tea. Which reminds me–’ He was interrupted by Fíli, who was thrusting a parchment in his hand, his face solemn.

‘This was on one of the desks. Very carefully placed, very obviously intended to be found.’

Gently, Ori blew off the last of the dust and quickly scanned the writing, his heartbeat picking up the farther he got.

_To whom it may concern,_ it began.

_Congratulations on retaking the Mountain. I hope the wyrm met a bitter end – may it rot forever unburied._

_We have barred the public entrance and hope it holds. Royal records are sealed in the secure archive vault. It will remain intact even if the rest is gone, for the wyrm has no means to unseal it. It’s no librarian._

_The beast has gone quiet and we hope we still might escape undetected. Farewell._

_On behalf of my colleagues listed below,_

_Feri, son of Ari, journeyman scribe and second assistant librarian._

There were more names under the signature, but they were a blur in Ori’s eyes.

‘It’s...’ he floundered.

‘Your kin? I thought he might be.’ Fíli’s hand lay on his shoulder, then, light and uncertain, but there.

‘He’s...was... my mother’s brother. Younger brother. I... I never knew him, and she never... she never told much.’ Ori stopped, unwilling to go on. His gaze trailed over the last words of his late uncle. Dori would be overjoyed to see this. _May it rot forever unburied..._ Ori shuddered.

‘He never made it out, did he?’ Kíli had appeared to his other side so silently that Ori startled. He only shook his head in answer, not trusting his voice. Kíli laid his hand on Ori’s free shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’ he said, leaning closer. And Ori found himself leaning back, almost in spite of himself.

‘No need.’ he whispered. ‘Like I said, I never even knew him.’

‘But he was family.’ Kíli squeezed Ori’s shoulder, pulled him a tad closer.

_Family. And now he lies somewhere in the mountain, dead and unburied, if he’s lucky_ . Ori refused the think of the alternative. _Burned to crisp, half-eaten,_ his subconscious supplied, unhelpful. _But the beast is dead,_ he thought back at himself, for the little good it did.

Instead he closed his eyes. Felt the warm solid arms around his shoulders. Felt a warm solid living breathing body either side of him. Breathed in and back out. ‘Right.’ he said. ‘At least we’re in the right place.’

The door into the library proper was narrow, of good solid oak. It opened at the turn of the handle, but with a high squeak. Fíli stepped aside. ‘You first.’ he nodded to Ori. He lifted his lamp and stepped into the darkness.

The air was cool and dry and still, with no trace of the dragon. It made Ori think of long-sealed slabs of stone, of the patient slow decay of time. With each echoing step, more dust rose from the floor to pillow in the golden circle of lamplight until the air seemed full of dancing grey moths. At regular intervals pillars reached up, their decorations reflecting the light and climbing the length of stone up and out of sight. Ori stopped to get a closer look. Copper and steel, as he should have known, shaped into an angular vine of intertwining runes, into a verse of an ancient song. The first metals ever mined for, useful turned decorative by the crafts of a smith and a songwright. On his right and left, the light touched the ends of tall shelves, running row after row into the darkness. Ori didn’t quite dare to touch the books, not quite yet, but brushed his fingers across an index plaque riveted to the stone. The brass gleamed softly when free from the dust, and the marks on it were pleasantly familiar. The system was the same they used in Ered Luin. Of course it was the same. Ori smiled to himself and walked forward, to where the soft darkness was turning gradually lighter, sure of his way now.

The corridor between the bookshelves came to an end in a large central space where the floor was dappled with wan, pale irregular squares of light. Ori blew out his lamp and looked up. High in the gloom, he could make out a corresponding pattern of lighter patches.

‘Skylights?’ Kíli asked at his elbow.

Ori shook his head. ‘Never. The glass would break too easily and let the damp in. Besides, I think we’re too deep inside the mountain for that anyhow. I’d say light-wells. They would work for ventilation as well – notice how it’s not quite as stuffy here as some places we’ve been?’

Kíli nodded. ‘Aye. And no dragon-stench here either. But how come it's still so dark in here? It must be full day outside.’

Ori shrugged. ‘Some of the wells could be blocked by snow or debris, and the mirrors certainly will be dusty after all this time. Still, it’s nice to have a bit proper–’ he stopped as his wandering gaze fell on Fíli. He’d set his lamp down on the first in a row of stone pulpits and one of the squares of sunlight fell on him, as if on purpose. The blue-tinged light and the surrounding shadow made his hair look almost silver instead of golden and robbed his face of all sharp lines and angles, leaving only softness. Ori’s fingers itched for his sketchbook, but he turned away instead and walked determinedly past Fíli, past that pulpit and another and another, further into the pale forgiving light.

> _The library in Rivendell had a lovely view. Ori was sitting on the window-seat, flicking his eyes between the archery butts and his drawing._
> 
> ‘ _Show-off.’_
> 
> _He startled, reflexively flipping another page over the half-finished sketch. Fíli sat down beside him and pointed a finger to where one of the practising archers stood more than a head shorter than the rest. ‘He’ll never have them on speed, that’s for sure.’_
> 
> ‘ _Accuracy, then?’ And Ori didn’t know where that had come from. Maybe the past hour spent watching had something to do about it._
> 
> _Fíli shrugged. ‘He’s a hunter, true. Has to make that single shot count. But I don’t think so. At best he only makes a fool of himself.’_
> 
> ‘ _And at worst?’_
> 
> ‘ _A complete fool.’ Fíli grinned. ‘So. I hear you’re doing portraits of the Company?’_
> 
> ‘ _Oh! Yes, yes I do. For the journal. I think I’ve done almost half already... I’m still missing yours, if...’ Without thinking, he turned a new page from the sketchbook. Except that it wasn’t exactly empty._
> 
> ‘ _I see you’ve done Kíli already.’_
> 
> _Ori looked down and quickly flipped the page over, feeling his face heat. ‘Well.’ He swallowed. He’d have to get the younger prince sit for him properly now, before he forgot. ‘Would you mind sitting for me now, or...’_
> 
> ‘ _That’s why I sought you out in the first place.’ And Ori wouldn’t reproduce that smile for any official portrait. ‘How do you want me?’_
> 
> ‘ _How? What do you... oh. Right there is fine. The light is – I mean the light is excellent here, that’s why I... usch, never mind.’ Ori swallowed around the lump in his throat and gave up on fighting the blush rising to his cheeks. ‘Just sit still, if you please.’ He could at least try to be professional about this._
> 
> ‘ _And try to look heroic and princely?’_
> 
> ‘ _If you’re sure that’s comfortable... it’ll take me a while, mind you.’_
> 
> ‘ _Maybe not.’ Fíli laughed. ‘Bound to get a cramp somewhere.’ He leaned against the window frame opposite Ori. ‘Good like this?’_
> 
> _That was the way Ori drew him, with the soft light of the hidden valley picking out highlights on his golden hair and the beads in his moustache, with a smile that was just barely short of a smirk and a definite glint in his eye. And if he thought of tracing the edges of that smile with his fingertips while he worked, that was nobody’s business._

 Ori heard a crunch at his feet and stopped. Peering down he discovered a squashed quill under his boot. The pulpit next to him still held an open roll of parchment. No. Make it two rolls. One copied into and one to be copied from. Gently, Ori blew off the dust from the right-hand scroll. The text ended in mid-sentence, the last rune one stroke short, but neat. If he'd wanted, Ori could have sat down and picked up where the scribe had left off. And if he were careful, no one would be able to tell there had been any interruption.

‘Find anything interesting?’ Kíli peered over his shoulder.

Ori stepped away. ‘Just more things left unfinished.’ He walked past the pulpits until he came to a tall stone table. A thick ledger sat open exactly in the middle of it. Ori walked around to read it the right way around and tried to ignore the fact that Kíli accomplished the same simply by leaping over the table in a cloud of dust. It was a record of loans to the reading hall, as it would be. However, Ori found it impossible not to laugh when he saw the last entry. Someone had written _Extended into perpetuity_ neatly across the last row of records. It had pretty much the same effect on Kíli when Ori pointed it out.

‘What’s so funny?’ Fíli leaned over the tabletop, trying to peer into the book.

‘Just – someone had quite an idea for a joke–’

‘Or they _really_ wanted to make sure no-one ended with a library fine because of Smaug–’

‘A library fine, that’s a good one, Ori – seriously; that’s a first thing to worry about when a dragon’s burning down the mountain around your ears!’

Fíli moved his hand, as if to reach out – then placed in on the ledger instead, turned it around to read. ‘Maybe there just was someone with sense enough to care – and to realize exactly how ridiculous that was in the circumstances.’ he said, eyes fixed on the book, his words cool and measured.

Ori felt the laughter die in his throat as quickly as it had welled up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated realization: maybe not the best chapter ending. But hey, my first chaptered fic, so at least I'm learning.
> 
> As always, comments are very welcome. Be brutal or be sweet, I don't care, as long as you say your piece.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which complications are illustrated and a resolution is made.

Ori stood the broad-headed spear against the battlements, leaned his arms on top of the curtain wall and propped his chin on them, gazing out into the void. Why anyone would bother with arming him at all remained a mystery, since all he was supposed to be was a lookout. But right on cue, just like before his first watch days before, he’d had a spear pressed in his hand with a firm ‘Stick them with the pointy end – and run’ and a heavy bag of lead slingshots slipped into his belt without a word. That was big brothers for you.

Down below, some distance from the mountain, the ground was stippled with the camp-fires of the besiegers, mirroring the stars on the clear, black sky above. The moon was only a night or two short of full, a pale bulging shape of light that outlined the stones of the battlements in silvery lines and stretched the shadow of Ori’s spear long and thin across the floor.

It was many hours later, and the moon was high on the sky when Ori heard the footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn around when a darker patch of shadow leaned its weight on the battlements beside him and peered over the edge.

‘You’re early.’

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ the shadow replied with Kíli’s voice. ‘So,’ he went on, ‘they still haven’t tried to storm the gate? I wonder what’s taking them so long.’

‘They have all the time they need. We watch them, they watch us. Nobody moves.’ And it was driving him crazy, the waiting. He’d have rather watched them build siege engines. But no. After the ultimatum, nothing had moved. No heralds, no new offers. No nothing. It had been days of nothing now, looking to grow into weeks.

For a while they just stood there watching the camp below, their breath fogging in the cold. Ori tried digging his fingers into his armpits for warmth. He’d had gloves that weren’t fingerless. He doubted the goblins had found any good use for them.

‘You’re cold.’

Ori shook his head. ‘Not really. Just–’

‘Let me.’ Kíli’s gloves were rough leather against Ori’s cold fingertips, but his breath was warm as he blew on Ori’s skin. ‘Go back inside,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the hour you have left.’

Ori hesitated, his hands still between Kíli’s.

‘Don’t worry. He’s asleep already.’

Ori sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If I’d realized it’d be like this... well, I probably still wouldn’t have said yes. But it’s not like I said no, either.’

‘You haven’t watched uncle Thorin too closely, have you?’ Kíli chuckled. ‘Fíli’s so much like him sometimes that it’s frightening. When things don’t go his way, he broods. He’s very noble and proud about it, but that’s what he does.’ He paused. ‘He’s quite lost his head over you, you do realize? You’re too easy to lose one’s head over.’ Kíli drew Ori’s hands close to his chest and blew more warmth on the cold fingers, his face close enough that Ori could feel the stubble on his chin against his palms. His breath caught in his throat.

‘I was happy with the way things were before,’ he managed. ‘Fíli was the one who decided to be serious about it.’

‘Despite evidence to the contrary, my brother is a grown Dwarf. I doubt you could sway him if you tried. He knows what he wants and he’s told you as much.’ The shadow that was Kíli’s face seemed to stare intently at him. ‘You owe it to him to do likewise. Give him a clean yes or no, but stop this.’ He squeezed Ori’s fingers tighter. ‘Anything is better than seeing you both like this.’

‘I don’t...’ Ori whispered, the words falling dull and flat in the freezing air. To say ‘I don’t know what I want.’ would have been a lie. ‘I need more time,’ he said instead. To find a way out. To get killed in the meantime.

‘Well, you can’t have any! They have it! They have the time!’ Kíli let go of Ori’s hands to jab an angry finger at the camp below. ‘They have it all and we’ve run out.’ He leaned towards Ori, their heads all but touching. ‘Do you want him to go to his death with a pointless hope? And me without no hope at all?’ Kíli halted, took a step back, then another. ‘Shit. Didn’t mean it to slip out like that,’ he breathed, almost too quiet to hear.

Very slowly, very carefully, Ori took one step forward, then another. Found Kíli’s hand in his own and twined their fingers together. Surely he owed this much to him. Owed this much to himself. For all he knew, they wouldn’t see another moonrise. ‘No.’ he said. ‘No to both of your questions.’ Kíli’s face was in shadow, but Ori could hear his sharp intake of breath. It shouldn’t have been so easy lift his free hand, then, to brush his gloveless fingers across a stubbly cheek, to wind them in a black mass of hair, uncombed and tangled, so right against his skin.

Maybe Ori leaned up then, and maybe Kíli met him halfway. Maybe they both moved with the same goal in mind. But Kíli certainly didn’t kiss the way Ori had always thought he would; he didn’t kiss the way he talked, enthusiastic, unthinking and without giving anyone involved a chance to catch their breath. It was his gentleness that caught Ori off guard. The soft brush of his thumbs across Ori’s cheeks, the way he wound his fingers in Ori’s hair to cradle the back of his head, the way his mouth moved soft and undemanding on his, as is if Kíli waited for him to yield of his own accord. If anything, his hands and lips on Ori’s skin were almost too gentle, almost as if he expected him to startle and bolt at the first rough touch. It lasted a space between two breaths, it lasted for a lifetime, and not long enough, but finally Ori pushed Kíli off with both hands on his chest. ‘This,’ he managed, breathless, ‘is a very bad idea.’ He backed off against the wall.

‘But–’

‘Don’t. I shouldn’t have done that. Not to Fíli.’ Ori wouldn’t look at him.

‘What do you– oh.’ To Ori’s utter dismay, Kíli laughed. ‘You think Fíli would get jealous? But he was the one who told me to stop pining and do something about it.’

‘He did what? Why would he– ’only it did make sense, a terrible kind of sense. Ori felt the colour drain from his face. He’d always thought it was something you only read about, but he could _feel_ the skin go pale and cold. Prickly and numb with a frost that had nothing to do with the weather.

‘You said you would take the rest of my watch. I’ll leave you to it.’

He went without waiting for an answer.

Kíli had spoken true, for Fíli was fast asleep. Ori’s own bedroll was where he’d left it in the morning: open next to Fíli’s. Not far, not close. Not close enough to share blankets, like it had been until three days ago, but not too far to reach a hand across. Quietly, Ori knelt next to the one he still thought as his golden prince, leaned down until he could press his cheek against Fíli’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed silently against the blanket. He crawled back to his own bedroll, the taste of unshed tears bitter at the back of his throat. He sighed and burrowed deep into his blankets. The coarse wool smelled plainly of damp and smoke, and faintly of fish, but did keep cold away.

> _Ori leaned closer to the light and cursed. There was the predictable ‘Tsk’ to his left, which he ignored, but the low whistle across the fire was a different matter._
> 
> ‘ _Did you hear that, Kee? I think I just heard wee Ori cuss.’_
> 
> ‘ _And a good one too, with a proper punch.’_
> 
> _He didn’t look up, because absolutely no-one had any right to look that good after the first dry day following a week of rain. He knew his own hair stuck up every which way as it dried out. Some people had the good sense to wear theirs long enough to braid properly and the ridiculous luck to have it dry out neat and sleek and golden (not that he was looking) instead of looking like a frazzled raven’s nest._
> 
> ‘ _You would too,’ he muttered, stabbing the needle through the fabric more viciously than perhaps was absolutely necessary, ‘if you had more holes than blanket this early on the journey.’ He secured the ring of stitches around the unravelling square of plaid. ‘I swear it’s not two days since I fixed the last one.’_
> 
> ‘ _I’ll do it for you.’_
> 
> ‘ _No!’ He paused and sighed. ‘I mean, thank you, but no. It was me who made the bloody thing and thought this weave would hold, so it’s me who gets to mend it each time it snags at something and gets undone. Um. Sorry.’ Lovely. He was snapping at Dori, of all people, now. It was one thing to hate mending things when you only did it every once in a while, not every few days on the very same piece. In firelight. With people making fun of you. He wove the yarn in a simple and efficient criss-crossing pattern across the hole, giving up on even trying to imitate the pattern. He’d need to do it over again in any case. A hundred times before they got anywhere near the mountain._
> 
> ‘ _You made it yourself?’ A hundred times_ _ **without**_ _people looking over his shoulder and hanging their bloody golden hair in his face._
> 
> ‘ _What if I did?’_
> 
> _The gold vanished from his field of vision. ‘Sorry. No need to bite my head off. Just didn’t know you had another craft.’_
> 
> ‘ _Family craft. Was apprenticed for a bit, learned enough from Dori to make most of my own wear.’ Instead of having to buy it._
> 
> _There was that whistle again. ‘Looks fancy enough you could make a living off it.’_
> 
> _Ori shrugged, turned the blanket to go over the darned spot in another direction. ‘Being a scribe sits better with me. And “fancy” doesn’t do you much good if it doesn’t last.’_
> 
> ‘ _Well, if it gets completely hopeless, you can always have mine.’_
> 
> _Ori’s scissors clipped the end of the needle instead of the yarn. He could feel the glare passing over his head._
> 
> ‘ _To borrow. To borrow, not to share. Sheesh. No need to look at me like that.’_
> 
> ‘ _You’d better mind your tongue. It will get you to trouble one day.’_
> 
> _Fíli had nothing to say to that, but as Ori got up to put the folded-up and mended (for now) blanket back to his bedroll, he couldn’t mistake that wink for anything else than what it was. At least he could blame the heat on his face on the fire._

Except it hadn’t stopped at daydreaming. Or a bit of fun on the road. ‘Fun’ was the last thing Ori felt right now. Or what Fíli felt – or Kíli; stuck now at the wall after he’d run off like the coward he was. Ori sat up. The solid cacophony that was the Company sleeping continued uninterrupted around him. He could feel Fíli there, barely within reach, was drawn to his warmth in the smoky damp darkness. He’d have to face him come the morning, him and his brother both. Without thinking it any further, Ori began to roll up his blanket, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Nori didn’t say a word, only rolled over to make a space for Ori next to him. He settled in and closed his eyes, listening to the familiar low rumble of Dori’s snores on one side, the soft, even breathing of Nori, wide awake still, on the other. Ori knew Nori could have pretended sleep well enough to fool him, only he chose not to. Not that Ori would do anything with the knowledge. Nothing like talking to him at least. For all he’d done so in the past, and for all that Nori’s advice had been blunt in appearance but useful in practice, the present conundrum felt like something he had to figure out on his own or not at all. He closed his eyes, and eventually, slept.

The next morning, like the many mornings before, there was little to do in the mountain. Except look for the stone that wouldn’t be found. Ori winced quietly as the heel of his hand grazed against something sharp in the pile of glittering odds and ends he was shifting through. He drew out a roast fork with a gold-plated handle and added it to another pile to his left, wishing for proper leather gloves. He’d abandoned the knitwear early on, since it kept snagging on things, and Mahal knew his mitts were in bad enough shape as they were.

He leaned back on his haunches and looked over to the other side of the hoard, where a golden head was bent over the contents of another overturned barrel of treasure, with its darker companion not far. Never far. That was something, surely. Ori didn’t know what he’d done otherwise, even if the fact that Fíli was avoiding him meant losing the company of both brothers.

‘I hope you know that’s a wasted work.’

‘What?’

‘Chains.’ Nori pointed to his lap. Ori looked down at a twisted tangle of slim golden chain that his fingers had been busy unknotting. He knew it was a nervous habit, unpicking, unspooling, unravelling things. And he knew that Nori knew.

His brother nodded over to the other side of the huge hall. ‘And that’s a **complete** waste of breath. Haven’t I told you never to run after them?’

Ori nodded, dropping the chains into the heap on his left, still tangled, still a knot waiting to be undone. _It’s the other way around,_ he wanted to say.

> _He’d been in a hurry that evening, wanting to make best use of the light while it lasted. He looped and knotted the last of the twine into a snare and set it down with the others. He was still one hook trigger short, but that was a quick enough work with a bit of wood and a whittling knife. Or was until a dark head leaned over his shoulder, the hair brushing his cheek in a most distracting way._
> 
> ‘ _Snares, Ori? I never thought you one to make those.’_
> 
> ‘ _Well, yes – I thought we might as well save the supplies for the mountains.’_
> 
> _Kíli squatted down next to him and picked up one of the triggers. ‘I’ve never seen one shaped quite like this before,’ he mused._
> 
> ‘ _And that would be because it’s a family design,’ said another voice behind them, and Ori couldn’t help grinning at the way Kíli very nearly jumped from his skin._
> 
> ‘ _Will you ever stop sneaking up on people!’_
> 
> _Nori barked a laugh. ‘Hardly need to sneak when you’re not paying any attention. You should, though, might even learn something. My little brother here sets a pretty fine snare.’_
> 
> ‘ _Bah. He only says that because he’s the one who taught me how.’_
> 
> ‘ _I never even knew you_ _ **knew**_ _how. Not exactly the kind of thing you’d expect a scribe to know a lot about–’_
> 
> ‘ _I’m still only a journeyman.’ Ori cut him off, gathering the hooks in a jacket pocket and the looped snares in his hand. ‘And that’s no excuse not to bring my own meal to the table.’ Quite surprisingly, that left Kíli at a loss for words._
> 
> ‘ _What my brother is trying to say is that not everyone can afford to hunt for sport –_ _ **princeling**_ _.’_
> 
> ‘ _Oh... hammer and tongs, I really did put my foot in it this time, didn’t I? Ori, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.’_
> 
> _And that beat-up look was too appealing on Kíli, as far as Ori was concerned. He shrugged and turned to leave. ‘Should set these up while the light lasts.’_
> 
> ‘ _Can I help? Please? It’d be quicker with the two of us.’_
> 
> ‘ _If you want to.’ Ori feigned another shrug, but couldn’t help the smile stealing over his face._
> 
> ‘ _But no funny business, mind you!’ Nori shouted after them at the edge of the clearing._
> 
> ‘ _Speak for yourself!’ Ori called back over his shoulder. ‘Seriously,’ he said to Kíli, ‘sometimes I wish I had a big brother who was more like yours.’_
> 
> _Kíli laughed. ‘No you don’t. Fine, maybe he’s not as scary as yours, but he’s every bit as horrible, only in a different way.’_
> 
> _Ori quirked an eyebrow, smiled at him. ‘Care to tell me more?’_
> 
> _When they got back, Kíli had his arm around Ori’s shoulders, and they both were laughing. And if certain older brothers chose that precise moment to look at their direction, that certainly shouldn’t have been a reason for Ori to blush._
> 
> _The next time, they took a bow and a slingshot._

That night Ori lay between his brothers, weary, the faint presence of the gold still hanging at the back of his mind like an insect buzzing in a large room just over the barest cusp of hearing. Sleep eluded him. He’d not spoken a word with the princes in the past day. In a way it would be easy to let it go on like this, to let this – whatever this was – to unravel on its own like a piece of knitting when the needles were pulled off. He would have done it, could have done it, had done it before, if it hadn’t been for the mithril-bright beads in Fíli’s hand.

Ori rolled over, burying his face in the lumped-up bundle of clothing that passed him for a pillow, barely suppressing a groan. Why couldn’t he have had an honest, simple bit of fun on the road? Why had they insisted on making it needlessly complicated? But no, that was a lie. Because he knew how he had felt at the sight of those beads and how it had hurt to refuse them. But what else could he have done?

He was at the door with his gear rolled up under one arm, an unlit lamp in the other, when a darker shadow moved and a hand caught his wrist. ‘ _Come with?’_ the other hand drew into his, the _iglishmêk_ signs neat and deliberate against his palm. Ori shook his head and turned sideways into the light, into the low glow from a dying brazier. ‘ _Alone,_ ’ he signed one-handed to his brother. ‘ _Meet morning.’_ Nori let go of his hand with a shrug. ‘ _Find you if not.’_ Which was the best he was likely to get.

Motes of dust danced in the golden circle of Ori’s lamp as he made his way deeper into the Library, retracing their footsteps from days ago. He trod softly, so as not to raise up more dust. So as not to raise up any ghosts. He stepped out of the row of shelves into the wide open space of the reading hall and looked up. An ill-defined patch high in the ceiling seemed infinitesimally lighter. It was still dark outside, but he should wake up easily enough come morning. If he slept at all.

He spread out his bedroll behind the stone desk and lay down. His hand hovered over the lamp, and hesitated. There was plenty of oil; if he wound the wick down real short, it would certainly last until morning. It was not the dark he was afraid of, but stumbling to relight the lamp in a hurry, if need be. Ori closed his eyes and inhaled deep. The library smelled of dust, parchment and ancient cowhide instead of dragon. He shifted in his blanket. It was cold in here, in this high wide room without anything to warm it with. But lonely, and silent save for the restless churning of his own thoughts.

Solitude, however, didn't seem to bring rest any closer than company. Ori sat up and leaned his back against the table in the minute circle of light, surrounded from all sides by the collected knowledge of his people, all neatly bound and labelled, turning his own puzzle around in his head. Before he realized he was doing it, he was hunting through the pockets of his over-sized jacket for something, anything to distract his hands with. What was it _amad_ always used to say? ‘Busy hands and a still heart.’ But Ori had never even thought of packing a set of knitting needles, he’d lost his sewing kit in Goblin-town, and while he had a pocket knife, there was no wood. But in the inside pocket, the most precious thing to survive the entire journey, as if by some miracle, was his sketchbook. He leafed through the pages in the dim light, absent-mindedly turning the wick out for a larger flame.

There was Fíli, back when he’d done portraits of everyone. And the sketch of Kíli at the archery range in Rivendell that Ori had never got around finishing properly. And Kíli’s ‘official’ portrait for the journal, where he managed to look quite a bit more solemn than his brother. If you didn’t look at the eyes. Because there it was all right, that permanent cheek, that indomitable good cheer that seemed bounce him back from every adversity if only to spite you.

But Ori remembered Kíli’s expression the one time he caught Ori looking at him today, and he knew himself for the one who put it there.

If only... there had been this one chance at having what they both wanted, and maybe it would have ended in disaster too, but then at least Ori would have been bold enough to chance it. 

> _It was a week into their stay in Lake-town. Another banquet. Another dull banquet if you’d already had your fill of the food and drink._ _**Especially** _ _so, if you’d had more than your fill of drink and had a warm hand sneaking up, up and up your thigh under the tablecloth. ‘Want leave,’ Fíli signed one-handed to his brother behind a conveniently placed jug. ‘Diversion?’ Kíli looked doubtful, and Ori reached out to squeeze his arm. ‘Please.’ he mouthed silently. Kíli rolled his eyes at them both, but shrugged and got up._
> 
> ‘ _Accidentally’ sloshing a mug of ale down Dwalin’s front was hardly subtle, but it created enough commotion for them to slip away quite unnoticed. It was cold outside, made worse by the damp chill rising from the water just beginning to freeze over, but with another warm body to lean on, Ori barely took notice. The walk back to the house took at least twice as long as it should have, with Fíli making use of every shadowy nook and secluded doorway to steal a kiss. Ori went along eagerly, giddy on the ale and on their first chance to be properly alone since – well, since the skin-changer's house._
> 
> _The first time Fíli had held Ori had been almost an accident. He’d stumbled climbing down the giant steps from the Carrock, and it had been neither of his brothers that caught him, but Fíli. ‘Won’t let you fall again. Never again,’ he’d said, the grip of his hands solid and strong on Ori’s arms. Ori’s heart had leaped and stuttered in his chest as he lifted a hand to cup Fíli’s cheek, the golden curls of his beard running softly between his fingers, and how he must have blushed when Fíli had turned his head to press the barest peck of a kiss against the pad of his thumb._
> 
> _There had been no time for more, but Fíli’s eyes had been so soft, and his smile had spelled ‘later’ clearer than any script Ori knew of._
> 
> _Beorn’s hayloft had amused Fíli to no end. He’d told Ori how he’d once wondered what it had meant in the villages of Men, when the young men would boast about having had a roll in the hay. He’d found out eventually, only to be told in no uncertain terms that it was not something for the likes of him. ‘And here I am,’ he’d laughed as they sank in the dry, rustling softness, a faint, sweet, scent of clover rising in a cloud around them, as he held Ori so close as to make him gasp. ‘And you.’_
> 
> _It had been an entire lazy afternoon, and not nearly enough._
> 
> _The bed in the room Fíli shared with his brother in Lake-town was not quite as soft, but much less prickly, and the steady glow of coals in the brazier kept the room plenty warm enough to strip down to the skin, to kiss and caress and tease every bit of each other as it was exposed. This was no stolen moment behind a hastily closed door, the sounds of others clear in the next room, but their own peace and quiet. This was not caring, for once, that they might be overheard, for the house was yet empty. This was thinking that it would not do to fall asleep here and drifting off regardless, too happy and sated and weary to care._
> 
> _The night was well on its way to the morning when Ori woke up, deliciously warm. Fíli’s breath was hot at the back of his neck, the arms around him heavy with sleep. Sighing contentedly, Ori burrowed his face into a shirt smelling of ale, pipe-weed and sweat. And snapped his eyes open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of embers and a pale strand of dawn sneaking in through the shutters. It outlined a dark tousled head resting on the pillow, the profile clear against the linens. Unbidden, Ori’s hand left its place against Kíli’s chest and traced the contour of his sleeping face. Oh. And that was not Fíli’s arm around him either. Or not just Fíli’s arm.  
>  _
> 
> _He must have made some sort of sound, because Kíli stirred and gave out a small indelicate snort, his arm drawing Ori even closer, one hand sliding down his back to rest on the curve of his bottom. Ori’s breath caught in his throat. He was only wearing his under-shirt and nothing but, and was very snugly trapped between two warm bodies - and it dawned on him between one breath and the next that he_ _**wanted,** _ _wanted so much his heart hurt with it. The whole of his skin was tingling, and everywhere he was pressed against Fíli – or his brother – seemed to beat with a will of its own, a desire for more. Surely it was only the solid presence of Fíli, Ori tried to reason with himself, only his arms around him, the way he could still smell the night’s pleasure on the sheets around them that made him feel this way._
> 
> _Kíli’s hand was so warm where it moulded into the curve of his buttock, and Ori thought he could feel each finger through the thin fabric of his shirt. There was a part of him, a dangerous, reckless part that wanted nothing more than to tip his chin up just that little bit to close the distance, to see if Kíli truly was asleep and to find out if his lips truly were as soft as they looked like, and Mahal below he was tempted... but no. Carefully, he pushed against Kíli’s chest, trying to get enough room to wriggle free._
> 
> ‘ _Don’t go.’ Kíli muttered sleepily in his hair. Ori froze. ‘I only just got warm. It’s colder than a well-diggers arse out there.’ Ori felt him nudge his cold feet next to his under the blanket._
> 
> ‘ _You’re a grown Dwarf, Kíli.’ Ori retorted, now firmly pushing himself up and out of Kíli’s grasp. ‘You don’t need me to hold you when you sleep.’ He would not look at the mock-hurt expression he knew too well._
> 
> ‘ _Ugh! You’re too sweet to be so cruel. And Fíli’s hogged you up all for himself long enough now–’_
> 
> ‘ _And you’re drunk as a skunk.’ He slapped at fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt. ‘Off!’_
> 
> ‘ _Don’t push it, you twat – he said to let go!’ Ori heard a smack behind his back as he climbed off the bed, an ‘Ow!’ from Kíli and then, very distinctly, a yelp and a loud thump, like someone landing on the floor, hard._
> 
> ‘ _I’ll just... I’ll just go and have breakfast,’ he said without turning around, and walked out still belting his trousers on._
> 
> _He sat a long while alone in the kitchen afterwards, nursing a cup of tea long since gone cold. He’d not dared to try the room he shared with his brothers, not this late into the night. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but he’d been so warm and snug and comfortable. If only someone else would wake up. Preferably someone else than Dori. Of course he would know. But he wouldn’t make a scene in front of the others – that was the one benefit of finally being of age._
> 
> _In the end it was the burglar who made an appearance first, and if he thought it odd that Ori should already be awake, he kept his opinions to himself._
> 
> _Given the wake-up they’d given Fíli, catching Kíli on his own proved surprisingly difficult and took Ori until late in the afternoon. Eventually he cornered the younger prince behind the house on his way back from the privy. ‘What were you thinking?’ he hissed, jabbing a finger hard at Kíli’s sternum. He stumbled back a step, barely failing to reel into the icy water behind the railing._
> 
> ‘ _I’m sorry’, he said, brushing hair from his face, not quite looking at Ori. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’_
> 
> ‘ _Didn’t_ _ **mean**_ _to upset me?’ And that was a good tone of voice, that. He’d never before managed one that would make even Kíli cringe. ‘You come, drunk off your arse, and think snuggling up to me after... after I’ve just spent the night having it out with your_ _ **brother**_ _is a good idea? When he’s still there in the bed with me? And you say you don’t want to upset_ _ **me**_ _?’_
> 
> ‘ _Thought Fíli wouldn’t mind.’_
> 
> ‘ _Well, he did. And_ _ **I**_ _do.’ Ori stepped up to Kíli, to stare him in the eye. Telling himself to keep angry. Fighting the urge to brush the hair from Kíli’s face. Again. Banishing the thought about getting it properly braided for once. ‘I... what I mean is that I’m more than glad to be your friend, but the one I’m bedding is Fíli, and that’s the end of it. I can’t help if you’re upset because he got there first.’ He was standing too close now; close enough to feel the other’s body heat... ‘Just. This doesn’t need to be any more difficult than it is already. So.’_
> 
> _Kíli’s hand brushed his cheek, for the softest, tiniest moment. ‘Ori... oh, hammer and tongs, I’m a fool. I’m so sorry.’ He turned, quick on his heel and went back into the house._
> 
> _Ori stayed outside a good bit after that, looking over the rime-encrusted grey-green water. Very definitely not thinking about what that kiss would have felt like._

Ori woke up in the grey morning light, gasping and tense, and so hard he was aching with it. It took him a split-second of utter mortification to remember where he was and to realize he was still blessedly alone – and not much longer to make the best use of his privacy. He had his trousers and smallclothes down and a hand on himself before his half-dozing mind even could bring up the reason why he’d woken up in such a state in the first place. Ori squeezed his eyes shut to better chase down the remnants of a dream as he worked his hand up and down the shaft.

He’d dreamt of waking up in Lake-town, like that one morning, but in the dream, he’d boldly stroked Kíli’s sleeping face, trailing his fingers in the short scruff of his beard, and woken him up with a kiss. And Kíli’s hands had trailed their way under Ori’s shirt, onto bare skin, all soft, torturous caresses in the lazily dawning light. Then it had been two pairs of hands pulling and tugging the shirt off him, and in the dream, Kíli had slept as gloriously naked as his brother, as he well should have, so Ori could easily taste his skin and the metal threaded through each budding nipple as Fíli gripped his hips and thrust his hardness against the cleft of his buttocks.

In the dust-filled silence of the library, Ori gasped and thrust into his own hand, eyes tightly closed, as he remembered how his dream-self had thrust into Kíli’s hand, fingers wrapping tight and slippery around them both. And as dream-Fili’s teeth grazed the shoulder of his dream-self, the flesh-and-blood Ori cried out and spilled into his hand.

He lay there for a long while, his breath evening out, watching slanting shafts of cold silvery light trace irregular squares over the footsteps in the dust.

It wasn’t until after he’d wiped his hand onto the bottom corner of the blanket and tucked himself in that Ori took proper stock of the situation. He’d just pulled himself off in a library, no going around it. But he was alone, not disturbing anyone – and he certainly wouldn’t be touching anything before washing his hands – and so, quite surprisingly, he couldn’t bring himself to feel the least bit ashamed.

His sketchbook was open on the desk next to the lamp, the flame now burned down to weak and low. It was open on the two pages he’d managed to fill in the Elvenking’s dungeon before his short stump of charcoal ran out. Young beautiful faces drawn from memory, one sporting braids and beads in his moustache, other an untamed mop of dark hair. The last sketches were unfinished, only hints of the proper shape, but he could see what they should become, what they could become.

It didn’t take Ori long to locate the section of the library holding treatises on law and records of court rulings. The system was, after all, one he could probably recite in his sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for an wilderness-wise Ori came from Lapin's wonderful [A Thousand Stars I wear](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1696859/chapters/3610346).
> 
> Comments welcome, please! Especially if you think something should be tagged that's not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here There Be Smut.
> 
> Honestly, that's about it. I regret nothing.

His brother would have been proud of the way Ori stepped out of the shadow beside the door and grabbed Fíli by the arm before he had a chance to react.

‘A word, please, Fíli. Now.’ he hissed into the prince’s ear and felt him tense, but refused to let go. If it came down to it, Ori suspected he was stronger of the two of them, even if he didn’t quite have his eldest brother’s legendary grip, but Fíli certainly had the upper hand in the simple wrestling tricks. Ori took a step, then another, and silently breathed relief when the other followed, without a word, but followed.

There was little side room a bit off the hallway leading to the new battlements. Fíli turned around slowly when the door had closed behind them.

‘A word, then.’ And Fíli wouldn’t look him in the eye, but rather to a point somewhere past his shoulder, his expression a carefully constructed blank.

‘Did you, or did you not tell your brother, and I quote verbatim, to “stop pining and do something about it”?’

‘I did, but if he’s made a mess of it, it’s his fault, not mine.’

‘Would you care to explain?’ It was eerie how much like Dori he sounded to his own ears. Like Dori demanding Nori for an explanation he needed, but didn’t particularly want to hear. His eldest brother would be so proud. ‘For instance, did it ever cross your mind to tell _me_ you were done with me?’ And he saw the minute shift in Fíli’s pose. Almost as he’d actually slapped him.

‘I thought you were done. And I saw the way you looked at him.’ Now he was finally looking at Ori, a full-on angry glare, which was infinitely better than the studied lack of emotion. ‘I thought you wanted him instead!’ he spat out and turned to the door. ‘Have my blessing, for what it’s worth.’

Ori pushed the door back and leaned on it. ‘So you decided to be noble about it? Look at me!’ He seized Fíli’s arm, and for a heartbeat, then two, they simply stood there searching each other's eyes. ‘You thought you’d just pass me over like that?' Ori snapped, but there was little bite behind his words. 'Did it ever cross your mind that you should ask _me_ if I’d really stopped wanting you?’

‘You still do?’ Fíli whispered, suddenly standing very, very still.

‘I never stopped. But–’ Ori settled his hands against Fíli’s chest, light and careful. ‘I think you know why I wouldn’t take your beads when you asked me to.’ He looked down, felt the leather and steel rough, slippery-cold under his fingers. ‘It would have been a cruel thing to do.’ He felt hands running up his arms then, their grip soft and tentative, not pulling closer, not pushing away. Holding him carefully close as Fíli leaned against his forehead, just the barest touch of warmth of skin against skin.

‘I know for a fact that one can want two people at the same time. That one can love two people with an equal passion.’ Soft words whispered into their shared breath.

What Ori almost said was: ‘That’s what _I_ was supposed to say.’ What came out was a half-swallowed gasp.

‘I just never dreamed you could be the same.’

What Ori wanted there and then, was to hold him close and closer and kiss the mouth that said everything he needed to hear, but it wasn’t the time or the place. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘I think we should find your brother. This talk is a waste of breath without him.’ He pushed back a step, Fíli’s hold on him loosening without resistance, and looked the other in the eye at last. ‘I’m either doing this with you and him both, or not at all, do you understand? I can’t – I can’t go back to the way things were. It was too cruel.’

For what seemed like the longest time, Fíli simply looked at him. Then he smiled, and took Ori’s hand into his own. ‘You’re a strange one,’ he said. ‘At times you seem to know me to the bottom of my soul, and then you say something like that and make me remember that we truly haven’t known each other that long. Because if you think that Kíli, of all people, would object to sharing with me, you couldn’t be more wrong.’

Ori could only hope Fíli’s certainty was well founded. It was past midnight as they sneaked into the single hall the company had cleared habitable. The place beside Fíli’s carelessly open bedroll, however, was empty.

‘He scarpered,’ said a voice behind them.

‘What do you mean?’ Ori turned around. ‘You didn’t do anything, did you?’

A piece of the shadows shrugged, and resolved into Nori. ‘Told him you’d turned in for the night already, but I didn’t know where, and he just took his gear and went.’

Ori narrowed his eyes. There was at least one lie in that statement, but fortunately a rather harmless one.

‘ _Where_ did you go last night anyway?’ asked Fíli. Ori saw his brother glance at their joined hands, then back at him. He said nothing, when Ori simply looked back.

‘Where do you think?’ he asked in return. Fíli looked thoughtful for a moment, then squeezed his hand and smiled.

‘Let’s just hope he thought the same.’

Kíli was sitting on the tall stone table in the darkened library, dangling his legs over the edge in a way that made him seem even younger than his years. He had an arrow shaft in his hand and his fletching kit was open on the table next to a lamp. Ori smiled at the sight. He doubted Kíli would truly have needed the light, if the way his fingers kept working when he looked up was anything to go by.

‘You’d left your roll, I was just waiting for–’ he caught a look at his brother behind Ori. ‘Oh. I see.’ He hopped down, light on his feet and started folding his kit together. ‘I’ll just be... Fee, you can have my roll, if yours is still back there–’

‘Kíli, please... just... just please shut up for a moment and listen, will you?’ Ori was standing next to him, his hand on Kíli’s arm. He could feel the shiver that went through the young prince as he exhaled.

‘Don’t.’ Kíli said staring at the tabletop, his head bowed and his face hidden behind a curtain of dark tangles. ‘Don’t tell me it was a nice kiss, but now that you’ve had time to think about it you’d rather not. Let’s just try to forget it ever happened.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ori said, and felt Kíli tense under his hand. ‘Hear me out, please, and if you decide then you’d rather not, I won’t hold it against you.’

‘He won’t though. Because our clever Ori has thought up an amazing thing. You’ll love it.’ It was Fíli, speaking over Ori’s shoulder, that made Kíli look up.

‘I’m listening.’ he simply said, propping his elbows against the table and leaning back.

Ori looked him in the eye; he owed Kíli that much and more. ‘I thought I could choose one of you over the other.’ he simply said. ‘But I can’t, and I can only say I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out.’ He realized he was unpicking a loose end of thread on the edge of his coat and willed his fingers to stop. He felt Fíli’s arm draping solid and warm over his shoulders.

‘So if you can’t choose,’ Kíli said slowly, ‘would you have both of us, then?’

Ori stepped from Fíli’s embrace to stand alone in front of the younger prince, alone at the edge of the unknown. ‘Only if you’d have me and were willing to share.’

_Please don’t tell me you need to think about it. Please let me be the only one of us to be so cruel._

For a moment, Kíli simply stared at him, his eyes wide. ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Either of you?’ Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Ori wanted to kiss him there and then. But he could wait a moment.

‘I would never joke when your heart’s at stake.’ Fíli squeezed his brother’s shoulder. Kíli looked at Ori, and slowly reached for his hand, twining their fingers together. For once, there was no mischief on his face, his dark eyes open and honest.

‘You’re serious. Mahal below, you’re _asking_ me if I want to.’ He suddenly laughed. ‘Oh Ori, you sweet fool. It doesn’t even count as sharing, not if it’s Fíli. If only you had said...’

And then he was holding Ori, his hands sliding up his arms, to cup his face, to card in his hair, and all Ori could was to hide his burning face into Kíli’s shoulder and whisper ‘I’m sorry. I was a fool.’ Through the haze of relief and joy he felt another set of arms around him.

‘Told you so.’ Fíli whispered, his laughter a soft puff of warmth tickling his ear. Ori felt like that morning in Lake-town, held warm and secure and close, except that now he no longer felt like he was cheating someone, being instead right where he belonged.

And now he could do what he had most wanted to do back then but hadn’t quite dared. He tilted his face up. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I’d like to kiss you properly. Without running away afterwards.’

Kíli’s smile was like the rising sun after a cold night, like a warm hearth after a long journey. Like homecoming. Ori reached up on tiptoe and took his own taste of it, now that he could.

It felt so right this time. Like the first time runes translated into words in his head, like the first time he saw the finished pattern in the colours of the weave. Like the first time he kissed Fíli.

For as long as it lasted. Until his shins started protesting.

‘Why do you have to be so ridiculously tall?’ he complained, a finger’s breadth from Kíli’s lips.

Kíli only smiled at that. ‘I have an idea.’ Without a warning, he simply lifted Ori clear off his feet and spun him around.

‘You silly–’ Ori tried to make out between giggles, but was left with a soft ‘Oh.’ when he found himself seated on the tabletop with Kíli leaning into the V of his open thighs, suddenly at perfect height for kissing his fill. ‘Clever.’ Ori complimented, cupping Kíli’s face between his hands, his thumbs sweeping over the soft short stubble on his cheeks. ‘Perfect.’ He leaned in for a kiss, then another. He trailed the tip his tongue on Kíli’s upper lip and heard the hitch in his breath, sucked the lip between his own and heard him gasp. Kíli sighed against his lips as Ori combed his fingers through the dark tangle of his hair, gathering it all at the back of his neck. Maybe someday he’d let Ori braid it properly; but that was a thought better stopped right there, because that was a thought for tomorrows. But today, he could have what was right there on his arms, and long before Kíli’s hands slid down from his waist and drew their hips flush together, Ori knew they were going beyond mere kisses, and when he felt eager hands slipping his coat off, his answer was simply to mirror them with his own.

But it was a coat of mail on Kíli, held by a belt, and getting the buckle open by feel was defeating Ori. Then he felt another’s fingers firm over his own, and the metal clicked open. Then it was Fíli easing the armour off his brother, nuzzling the back of his neck as the gilded mail fell into a heap at their feet.

‘Not fair!’ Kíli laughed. ‘You’re two against one.’

‘Hey, no changing your mind now! Or else.’

‘Never.’ Kíli unwound Ori’s scarf and pressed a kiss after another down his neck. ‘Never.’ Ori shivered to hear and feel him repeat the word against his skin, the brush of lips punctuated by gentle nips of teeth.

‘Kíli. Please.’ Ori said, tilting his head back ‘Please.’ he repeated, his fingers curling in the unruly hair now, knotting now instead of unravelling. ‘I won’t break, I swear; you can be,’ he breathed, ‘less gentle.’ Kíli made a small desperate sound at his last words, and suckled down at the skin on Ori’s collarbone, not quite biting, but hard enough Ori knew it’d leave mark, and a trail of heat sped from the abused spot all the way down to his cock, making his breath escape in a drawn-out ‘Yes’.

Ori retaliated by wrapping his legs around Kíli’s hips and drawing him closer still. Encouraged, Kíli rocked against him ever so slow, and Ori had to bite back a moan. Oh, it had been too long since he wanted to do this, and it couldn’t be quick enough. Then he felt another set of lips at the back of his neck, warm thighs bracketing his own, and quick, clever hands sneaking between him and Kíli to pull at his shirt.

‘There’s a reason he’s so fond of scarves, you know.’ Fíli said conversationally over Ori’s shoulder, and then laughed and scooted back as Ori tried to elbow him. ‘I’m only giving him pointers.’

‘And helping yourself to him when you do it.’ Kíli quipped back, but there was a small smile drawing up one corner of his lips.

‘You can get out of your own clothes, can’t you?’

‘Would have got Ori out of his, too. You’ve had your turn already.’

‘All right, enough of that!’ Ori slapped Fíli’s hands off him and hopped down. ‘It’s the end result that counts, not who gets to undress whom. And if you two–’ he pointed at them in turn, ‘–think you can start arguing over me now–’ Ori paused to draw tunic and under-shirt over his head ‘– think again. There are three of us here, not you two together and me alone.’ He thought he should have been cold, standing there half-naked as he was, but instead felt warm and tingling all over his skin, be it irritation, arousal or simply nerves.

‘I’m sorry.’ Fíli trailed a hand down Ori’s arm to take his hand. ‘And you’re right. It was sometimes like that before, when it was the two of us and someone else,’ he went on, confirming what Ori had already suspected.

‘Not the politest thing to do, bickering over someone in bed,’ Kíli admitted. ‘But none of us were this sober at the time.’

‘We should have known better than that, though.’ Fíli paused, looking intently at Ori. ‘But this is different, this should be different. Because it’s you.’

Ori closed his eyes. Even unseen, he knew the other hand grasping his own was Kíli’s. Long strong fingers, calloused from bowstring, slightly sweaty now. As nervous as he was, Ori supposed. Because this was different; different, strange and terrifying. He breathed out and his heart felt suddenly so light in his chest. Because there was really nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, and if they had it in them to make promises when tomorrow could hold their doom, then making this... whatever this new and wonderful was... work would not be beyond them.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we’ll make it different. But–’ he smirked– ‘if I’m to give you a chance, I want to see what I’m getting. So.’ He stood in front of Kíli and grabbed the hem of his tunic. ‘Show me what’s under this, will you, because I’m curious.’

He didn’t make a show of it, as Ori half expected he would, going as slow and deliberate as he possibly could get away with.

In a matter of moments Kíli stood back, shirtless, and grinned. ‘Like what you see?’ Naked to the waist, he should have been shivering in the abandoned chill of the library, but to Ori, he simply looked glorious. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen him like this, not by far, but knowing that his state of undress was for Ori’s benefit and perusal, that he was allowed to _touch_ all that pale naked skin, made all the difference.

Ori stepped back for a better view and found himself mirroring the grin on the younger prince’s face. ‘I don’t know,’ he began, as if truly considering. ‘You look rather unkempt to me.’ He frowned for good effect. ‘And you _are_ quite unreasonably tall, to be honest. And on the lanky side, as well. But–’ Ori hastened to add when Kíli opened his mouth to protest – ‘your smile makes me go weak at the knees, I already know I won’t get enough of your mouth.’ he continued, leaning forward to brush a thumb across Kíli’s lower lip for emphasis.

‘And I still haven’t shown you all I can do with it.’ For once, Kíli was quick on the uptake. Ori silenced him with a finger to his lips.

‘Hush. I’m not done answering you yet.’ That earned him a silent grin and a wink.

‘I think you’ll need something bigger than a finger to shut him up properly.’ Fíli laughed and kissed Ori behind the ear.

‘Like you’d know! I can shut up if I want to. Just watch me.’

Ori tried hard not to laugh. Instead, he traced his fingertips down Kíli’s arms, following the inked lines and patterns. ‘Now these,’ he mused, ‘I know these arms like to hold me when I sleep, and I know I slept soundly in their embrace.’ He took Kíli’s hands in his own. ‘I used to dream of these hands,’ he said, kissing first the left palm, then the right, delighting in the gasp this drew from Kíli, ‘I dreamt of how they would feel like on my skin.’ Ori pulled his prince closer and placed his hands on his own bare shoulders. Kíli simply looked at him, as if transfixed, lost for words for once. Ori just smiled, feeling more impish by the moment.

Slowly, he brushed his hand across Kíli’s bare chest, stopping a hair’s breadth short of one pink nipple, peaked and pebbled in the cold air, with a small silver ring threaded through it. ‘I’ve heard some call these a warrior’s mark, a way to show how tough they are, but I also know that for some, there’s another reason as well.’ He paused. ‘Now I wonder which is true for you,’ he went on in a low voice, and flicked the ring with his thumb. Kíli arched into his hand, his ‘Please...’ coming out more like a moan than a word. His hands gripped hard on Ori’s shoulders, drawing him closer. Ori gave in to the heat building up low in his belly and bent his head to Kíli’s chest. First, he licked a lazy swathe up across the nipple. That got another moan. He tugged the ring gently between his teeth. That got a curse, and hips bucking against him, one thigh pushing between his own. Ori gasped against Kíli’s skin and sucked the nipple into his mouth, ring and all. That got Kíli begging, and Ori went on just to hear more of that, his hands moving further down seemingly of their own, eager to learn the feel of Kíli’s skin and burn it into memory.

Ori moved on to another nipple as he worked the laces on Kíli’s trousers, feeling Kíli’s moan as a hum against his lips as he grasped his length over his breeches.

‘Ori... please, you utter, complete, horrid tease... just please.’ Each syllable was clipped and breathless as they tumbled from Kíli’s lips.

‘Please what?’ Ori breathed against Kíli’s bare chest, giving him another squeeze.

‘Just... anything... anything you want.’

‘A taste of you first, then maybe something else.’ He looked up into dark half-lidded eyes. ‘Can I?’

‘Please...’

Ori dropped to his knees and heard a sharp intake of breath as the laces finally loosened enough, a bitten-off curse as he sucked Kíli into his mouth. From the corner of his eye he saw Kíli’s hand hovering uncertain over his shoulder. He took it in his own, guided it. As the fingers twined into his hair, he hummed around Kíli’s length, warm, heavy and silken on his tongue. He yanked Kíli’s breeches down lower, digging his fingernails into skin and muscle, feeling the tremble of each thigh as he licked a wide trail from base to crown, hearing the strangled gasp as he slid his lips back over the tip, down, down, down, until it was either back off or gag.

What shuffle or shift of position caused him to look up, Ori never knew, but he was glad he did. Because Fíli kissing his brother was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t only the contrast between fair and dark, clothed and half-naked. It was the fact that they were doing it while Ori was sucking Kíli off. It was knowing that even as Fíli carded his fingers through his brother’s dark hair, Kíli’s hands rested on Ori’s head as he knelt in front of him. That was what made him shiver from head to toe, moaning around Kíli’s cock. He slid the fingers of one hand just barely between one buttock and the next, where the skin was so, so soft beneath his questing fingertips.

Ori felt the fingers in his hair twist and tremble. ‘Please... please Ori, I can’t...’

He went with that, finding a quicker pace, slipping his fingers further still, until they brushed against puckered flesh.

Kíli bucked against him with a hoarse cry, seemingly unable to help himself, and Ori tasted him salty and warm on his tongue.

As Ori sat back on his haunches, catching his breath, Kíli fell back, knees buckling, against his brother.

‘I think you broke him,’ the golden-haired prince laughed. Ori couldn’t help grinning as he stood up.

‘Surely not.’ He caught Fíli’s mouth in a kiss, realizing a moment too late that he might... not appreciate. But he didn’t seem to care a whit.

‘You had a bedroll here somewhere?’ he only asked – and then swiped a finger over Ori’s cheek. ‘Missed a bit there,’ he smirked, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick the finger clean, his eyes never leaving Ori’s. There might have been another kiss then, as Ori leaned closer, a hand already on Fíli’s shoulder, but all of a sudden he had his arms full of a very much recovered Kíli, clinging onto him, never mind that his trousers were undone and slipping down to his knees.

‘You clever, lovely, little thing,’ he said, tapping Ori’s mouth with his finger for emphasis. ‘Amazing.’ He kissed Ori sloppily on the mouth. ‘Wonderful.’ Another kiss. ‘Brilliant.’ Ori heard Fíli snort somewhere behind him. He didn’t mind; he was kissing Kíli and getting kissed back, and his hands slipped so easily down Kíli’s bare back to grasp his behind. It was so soft, the hair there under his fingers, short and soft, and he couldn’t resist stroking his thumbs over it again and again. Kíli made a soft low sound against his mouth and drew that little bit closer still.

‘I’d tell you two to get a bed for yourselves, if we had any. And–’ Fíli rested his head on Ori’s shoulder, leaning to brush his bearded cheek against his neck– ‘to get some more clothes off.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Ori scoffed, turning around to run a finger down Fíli’s brigandine, ‘You’re the last one with steel still on you.’ He turned back to Kíli. ‘Help me?’

Although the sight of Kíli grinning and kicking his boots and trousers off in one go was no help at all.

Two bedrolls, even combined (the thought came unbidden to Ori that it was the first time it was his and Kíli’s), did little on a cold stone floor, but that didn’t mean much as Ori shed Fíli’s clothing piece by piece, the workings familiar under his hands – and gasped when a hand sneaked down his own trousers.

‘You’re not... exactly... helping.’ he managed as Kíli wrapped his fingers around him, bowstring callus rough and delicious on his skin, the grip just firm enough, just simply so _right_.

‘It’s only fair. You got to tease your fill, it’s my turn now. Now off with these.’ Kíli quipped, kissing his sweet slow way down Ori’s neck onto his shoulder and pulling at his trousers. There were two sets of hands on him as he squirmed free of the last of his clothes and for a moment Ori thought he just might finish there and then, with two sets of lips intent on bruising his neck. He arched back into Kíli, claiming his mouth. This kiss was more like Kíli than any of the previous, with an overload of enthusiasm and little regard to consequences, Ori thought, moaning at a sharp bite on his lower lip, at a hand – someone’s hand – pinching his nipple, twisting it to a hard point.

‘Beautiful,’ Kíli whispered into his ear, his breath a hot shadow ghosting on Ori’s skin, ‘If you could just see yourself now.’

A gentle hand on his bare thigh startled a gasp out of Ori.

‘Left inside pocket of your jacket, right?’

For a moment, Ori had absolutely no idea what Fíli was talking about. Then he turned his head to see him going through the discarded clothing, now without a stitch to his name himself.

‘Oh.’ It dawned. ‘Yes. I think. Yes.’

Quickly enough, Fíli uncovered a cloth-wrapped bundle with a soft ‘Ha!’

‘If that’s what I think it is, why ever do you carry it on you?’

Ori laughed and rolled around to kiss Kíli on the cheek. ‘Because if I left it in my pack, Nori would filch it. And the worst is that he wouldn’t even consider it stealing, since I’m family. Only it’s too bad he can’t return what he’s “borrowed”.’

‘Better believe him. Happened to us once already.’ Fíli held the bottle out to Ori. ‘So. How do we do this?’ Ori took it from him and turned to face Kíli.

‘A while back... when you said “anything”–’ He trailed a finger down Kíli’s thigh, drawing a wide, meaningless figure on the skin. ‘What if I wanted to take you?’ Kíli closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and gave him a wide smile.

‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I’d say that sounds like an excellent “anything”.’

With all the time they’d already wasted, it seemed none of them felt like rushing this, as if afraid of shattering the fragile new bond they shared, of dulling the sharp bright edge of terror and joy before they even had the chance to feel its bite.

It was lovely, to brush his lips against Kíli’s warm, warm skin, to breathe in the heady salty smell of sweat and heat and arousal that clung onto it, onto the dark trail of hair that led from Kíli’s chest down to his groin. That Ori could see the young prince cradled on Fíli’s arms, leaning back onto his chest, eyes fluttering close – that it was Kíli making soft, breathless sounds in time with Ori’s fingers moving in him – that was something he couldn’t think a name for, but he would rather have died than lost it. He caught Fíli’s gaze then, and wondered.

It felt beyond lovely, to be able to do this to Kíli, that it was him pouring just a little more oil on his fingers, so that everything was warm and silken and slippery-soft, and that it was Kíli who sounded just this close to begging, gripping Ori’s shoulder hard enough to hurt.

Later still it was Fíli’s hands running the length of his back, and Fíli’s kisses trailing his spine, the beads on his moustache-braids cold and calling up sweet shivers. And Fíli’s thumbs kneading down on his buttocks, fingers squeezing and teasing and spreading until Ori couldn’t help the sound that escaped him, the shift of his hips. He knew he’d be leaving a wet stain on the blanket, but couldn’t bring himself to care, because rubbing his over-heated skin into the rough wool was not quite enough, not quite close enough.

‘ _What_ are you doing to him, Fee?’ Kíli asked, half-laughing, all breathless. Fíli's answer was to lick a wide stripe up the base of Ori’s spine. He stifled a gasp pressing his face into Kíli’s thigh.

‘So you like that, do you? Kíli brushed hair from Ori’s face. ‘I want to learn you,’ he said softly, ‘I want to learn everything you like and do it to you.’

‘So better pay attention, then?’ Ori could hear the smirk in Fíli’s voice, the ghost of it warm on him, and took a moment to wonder at how easily this came to those two, their back-and-forth around him effortless as dancing. Before he could finish the thought, however, he had Fíli’s mouth on him, tongue flicking warm and slick and insistent on his skin, dipping into him, and all he could do then was to shudder into the blanket beneath him, his head resting on Kíli’s thigh, the smell of his arousal heavy and heady where his nose was almost buried in soft dark curling hair. And he still had his fingers in Kíli, could feel him _squeezing_ on them, pushing down on them now, the soft, slippery heat tightening and releasing around his fingers, and by all the forges it was all just on this side of too much.

‘Fíli... please, enough,’ he managed, his voice hoarse in his own ears, and pushed himself up. ‘Can I?’ he kissed Kíli, pulling his fingers out and trailing, them, oil-slick, over his thigh, barely biting back the ‘please’, because this was not _his_ call to make.

But it was Kíli who gasped ‘Please, yes’ and Fíli who pressed the small necessary bottle into his groping hand.

As if he’d used up all his patience in the long sweetness of their foreplay, Kíli thwarted all Ori’s efforts for slow and careful by arching against him, hooking his legs onto the small of his back, spilling a frantic rush of ‘Please’ and ‘Ori’ and ‘Fuck’ between clenched teeth. ‘Not going to last like this,’ Ori managed to say, leaning his forehead to Kíli’s, hilt-deep in throbbing, velvety-slick heat, but Kíli only pulled him closer, into a kiss that was all messy tongue and teeth and urgent need.

It wasn’t long though, until he heard Kíli suddenly gasping ‘Wait.’ And then again. ‘Wait.’ Ori, of course, went completely still.

‘Sorry–’

‘No.’ Kíli shook his head, spoke quiet and soft into their shared breath. ‘I’m fine. But Fíli – just let me, will you?’

Ori looked over and saw Fíli, looking at the two of them, eyes half-closed, flushed and breathing hard, pulling on himself quick and desperate. Ori swallowed, a smarting feeling of guilt at being over-selfish stealing over him. ‘Oh.’ He let go, pushing himself off Kíli, who sat up and turned to his brother. ‘Fee,’ he said quietly, pressing a hand on Fíli’s knee. ‘Let me.’

‘No, you don’t–’

‘Shut up when I’m trying to–’

‘But you don’t need–’ The rest was muffled in a kiss from Kíli. It went on for quite a while, unhurried now, and Ori felt like he shouldn’t be watching, but unable to tear his eyes away. Unable to stop his own hand trailing down where he himself was aching to be touched.

‘Yes, I need to,’ Kíli said quietly, the first to break the kiss. ‘Because I want to. Or can you tell me when I’ll next have a chance to do this?’ He nipped the skin just over Fíli’s collarbone. ‘Or this?’ Flicked his tongue over a nipple, the golden ring catching the light as it moved. ‘Or this?’

Fíli’s eyes fluttered closed as Kíli bent down to put his mouth on him, and the sound he made was a sharp intake of breath, not quite a sob, not quite a keen, small and broken. His hand trailed in Kíli’s hair, stroking through the dark strands, without taking a hold. Kíli hummed low around his cock, and Ori could see how Fíli’s fingers curled in his hair, the strands catching and tangling around them.

A shift of Kíli’s hips caught his eye then, and kept it transfixed, because surely he couldn’t mean... but surely one wouldn’t _display_ themselves like that if they didn’t mean it like an invitation? Careful, he trailed is hands down Kíli’s side to rest on his hips, one first, then the other. What Kíli did was shift his knees just that little bit more apart, make himself just that little bit more open still. And he pushed back when Ori sunk back into him, slow and sweet. He kept it that way, feeling for a pace that would work for – well, would work for everyone. Until he found he couldn’t, until urgency stole over him unawares, from the sweat shimmering in the hollow between Kíli’s shoulder blades, from the tremor that passed through the slim hips under his hands, from the way he could see Fíli’s fingers shifting and unclenching in Kíli’s hair. He chanced to look up to Fíli’s face then, into his eyes hungry and dark, and knew, the way you do without ever being told, that it wasn’t only him that was being shared, nor Kíli. It was all three of them.

The lamps cast strange shadows among the high shelves and when Fíli cried out, his body drawn taut as a bowstring, the light framed his face in a shifting golden halo spilling over his bare shoulders. Ori could just see Kíli’s fingers spread wide on Fíli’s thighs, holding him still as he sucked him dry, and thought of warm rough calloused fingertips pressing delicious into the skin.

And then he couldn’t loosen the grip of his own hands on Kíli, not even when he felt his fingernails digging into the skin so deep he knew it must hurt, he just held him and held onto him until the edge and over, as Kíli arched his back and gasped and begged, the whole of him clenching around Ori over and over and over.

There really wasn’t room for three to lie down comfortably, but as Ori curled against Fíli’s chest, with Kíli’s arms wrapped around him, one leg thrown over his thigh, he found that being a bit cramped didn’t matter. It felt like that morning in Lake-town, only infinitely better for being naked and spent and wrapped in each other because they’d agreed for it to be so; only Ori felt there had never been a real choice, more of a finding out they were shaped to fit one another. Like the three pieces that make up the centre of a vaulted arch, the two sides locking onto the capstone, making a whole.

He knew this was neither the time nor the place for asking such things, the warm dazed content of the afterglow, but had settled with himself already that here and now, a proper time and place were something one had to take and make for oneself. ‘You said this wasn’t the first time you’ve shared,’ he said softly. Fíli’s chest rose and fell underneath his cheek as he sighed.

‘No.’ Simple as that. ‘But no-one more than once.’

‘And never again. No-one but you,’ Kíli promised, kissing him on the shoulder, ‘I swear, Ori, no-one but you.’ As he held Ori closer still, Ori wanted to tell him not to promise, not to swear anything, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. He buried his face against Fíli’s chest instead, listened to the steady beat of his heart, Kíli’s breath a warm tickle at the back of his head, and said nothing.

Ori didn’t know when he’d passed from snuggly and comfortable and sleepy to true sleep, but there was a blanket over him now, and he must have rolled over at some point, because that was Kíli’s hair up his nose. But that wasn’t what had woken him. Nor was it the cold, not with lying skin to skin between two warm bodies.

Then he heard it again. A clearing of a throat. He opened his eyes and felt Fíli stir behind him.

‘So. You and those two.’ A statement of fact.

Ori sat up, looked his brother in the eye. ‘Yes. Me and these two. You have something to say about it?’

Nori lifted a braided eyebrow and leaned against a pulpit. ‘Yes and no and maybe. Probably nothing you will listen to. Let’s just say you sorted yourselves out at the nick of time.’

‘Oh? How so?’

‘There was–’ He hesitated just long enough for Ori to notice, just long enough for the dread to settle back in the pit of his stomach– ‘an incident at the gate. His Royal Majesty was none too pleased to find these two gone.’ he nodded at the princes now in frantic search for discarded clothing. Ori shrugged into a shirt, then fished Kíli’s boot from underneath the table and tossed it to him.

‘What happened?’ asked Fíli, with all the dignity of one still halfway into their trousers.

‘The burglar is gone.’ And this time Ori knew the pause was for dramatic effect. ‘He gave them the Arkenstone.’ Nori silenced the chorus of indignant ‘He didn’t’-s and ‘He wouldn’t have’-s with a wave of his hand. ‘I think he was trying to give them something to actually bargain with. Only it didn’t go down too well with Thorin. He cast the hobbit out of the mountain.’ He paused again, considering. ‘Might as well tell you now. He would have cast him over the battlements if not for the wizard. Yes, the old coot came back–’ Nori raised his hand for silence again. ‘I’ll fill you in, but a word with my brother first, if it please your highnesses.’

He marched Ori off into the stacks, far enough for them not to be overheard. ‘Thorin is not himself,’ he said bluntly. ‘Dangerous, as bad as his grandfather and then some, as far as I can tell. I’d say we scarper the moment Dáin gets here, but–’ he went on as Ori opened his mouth to protest– ‘I know I’d need to take you gagged and hog-tied, and I’d rather not.’

Ori felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. ‘That would be three against one.’

‘You’d forgive me eventually,’ Nori shrugged, ‘but Dori won’t come. Too honour-bound in his precious contract. So here we stay. Just – keep an eye open, will you?’

Ori nodded. ‘Promise.’

‘And if you think you can convince your two idiots, even if you have to drag them by their ears, then–’

‘Then we scarper.’ It would never happen, and they both knew it. But Ori knew Nori had to try.

Nori nodded in agreement. ‘You scarper.’ He turned to go, shaking his head. ‘Just can’t do anything the easy way, can you? I mean _both_ of them? One alone was trouble enough.’ he chuckled.

‘I had fun with Fíli. Something to have while the journey lasted.’ Ori replied, ‘But this, this thing we’re trying out now, it feels more right to me already. More... complete.’

Nori stopped and turned to look back at him. ‘That bad, huh? Only, please spare me the wedding, will you? Never could stand for ceremony, and that’s what you get with that lot.’ He took a hold of Ori’s shoulders and tapped his forehead to his. ‘You didn’t need to grow up quite this fast, you know?’ he said quietly. ‘And you have someone’s come on your shirt,’ he added with the same solemnity.

Ori’s eyes darted downward in spite of him. ‘Can’t have; I wasn’t even wearing – Nori, why, you, you!’

His brother mock-staggered away from a punch to his ribs. ‘Not too grown-up then, if you still fall for the old trick!’ he crowed.

Fíli was helping Kíli into his mail as they got back. Ori went and started rolling up the blankets.

‘Now listen to me, you two,’ he heard Nori say behind him and looked around to see his brother’s serious face, with none of the eyebrow-waggle and sarcasm. ‘I’m only going to say this once. You will look out for my brother with your lives, or you’ll wish you had. Because I’ll be watching.’

‘Save it.’ Ori got up and placed one hand on the shoulders of each of the princes. The mail felt cold and slippery under his palms. ‘They’re mine to watch now.’

Fíli drew him closer to press a kiss on his temple. ‘If there’s any watching to be done, it’s us having your back.’

Kíli wound an arm around his waist. ‘And sides. And front.’ He spun Ori around to kiss him, so that he ended up squashed between the two of them.

‘Oh, I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m sure someone will come and tell you if and when there’s some fighting to be done.’

‘Just – Nori, just give us a minute,’ Ori laughed. He let himself hold and be held, tight despite the rings of mail digging through his thin under-shirt, and remembered what he had discovered that one night alone in the library. That there was a precedent, that there would be a name in the sealed records; a name belonging to someone who had once, here under the mountain, braided two sets of beads in their hair and made it work.

FIN

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If not for [saraste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste), most of the nsfw bits of the story would have ended up off-screen, simply because I lost my nerve. I can't thank her enough for alternately patting me on the head or giving me a good kick on the arse, as required.
> 
> For something that started out as an excuse to write Fíli/Ori smut in the library, this evolved into something that's, well... something else.
> 
> First of all, Kíli happened. Then the story wanted to have flashbacks. Then it developed feels and moral dilemmas. It went rambling all over the place and got quite forcibly hammered into what you've just finished. If this is typical behaviour for any fic that goes beyond the 2k wordcount, I wouldn't know. I only know it was tricky.
> 
> But whatever this is, I'm proud as punch for having finished and posted it, because it happens to be the longest piece of fiction, be it fanwork or original, that I've written in more than 15 years -and a learning experience. In the order of: never write a story with multiple timelines and never again write smut with more than two people involved.
> 
> Until the next Idea That Won't Go Away.


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